He hardly imagined
Doing this job
But those that craved,
By the shortness of their slug-bitten roots,
The glamour of understudy to the leading Tory part,
Were so utterly deficient in the practise of social and economic justice –
So tainted by the lessons learned,
That he reluctantly emerged to stake his belief
In a wiser, fairer narrative and take his turn.
And there were cheers of relief and hope,
For the first time in years…
Oh, for crying out loud, Jeremy
It’s too depressing to watch.
What Juli at Juxtaposed wants to know is
Where’s his bite?
Where is his wit?
Take that pompous little shit down, Jeremy.
It should be easy
But it’s like watching a doddery
Dithering old dear get tricked
by a bunch of bitchy school girls.
It’s depressing to see him miss opportunities
And take others so clumsily.
One step forward; two steps back.
It’s distressing to see him being beaten
By thugs in bow-ties and cufflinks;
Being tripped by the loose lips and tight grip
Of his own wing.
Of course they’re ‘out to get him’
He threatens the establishment
And they find it easy.
The longer the Con, the greater the mess
The more likely is real damage irreversible
Echo chamber on…
Sycophants cannot countenance criticism
His enemies steal pawns and create false flags of opportunity
The fickle, framing, parroting Press and oscillating planet TV
Extend and compress
And I confess to fleeting polysympathy
He is too sincere
For his dim detractors
He is a misunderstood hero
He is the answer
He is faultless
To his projecting groupies
He is not eloquent
He is not dynamic
He is not sophisticated
Enough to instil support in the impatient
Not strong enough
Not hardened enough for such a vicious game
But it’s not about personality
It helps enormously
But it’s early days
No offence, JC
But I can’t afford to wait
As much as it is about you
In the end it’s much bigger
Not losing is not the same as winning
Standing still is not a ‘movement’
Clinging on or slow burn
The country can’t afford to wait
Not for social justice
And not one like mind is there,
Being both palatable and more polished
And ready to replace him
And if not him, then who?
Oh, yes: plenty there, enough
To push their luck
But they have the polish of shaped wood
And still serve only splinters
They are covered in the foul glory of appeasement;
Filled with a vacuous vitriol, dancing tarantella
on the grave of self-awareness
Because they think they are the true light and the way of the Party
I don’t care for their objections
They miss the point:
That most of them are not fit to shine his bicycle clips
That their world view is the kind that
Abstains when it should stand up
Frames when it should smash ceilings
Chases headlights and takes headlines as instruction
Carps and schemes and hinders and calls this listening and learning
I don’t have time for their indignant identity crisis
I don’t have time to fathom the collage of rhetoric and vision
I don’t have time for the perpetual dark night of their Party soul
The black hole into which all and any credibility holds hands
And forward rolls.